Black fine line script reading Dreams do come true followed by a solid mouse ears silhouette with a small heart, shown as a tattoo design on a white background.

Dreams do come true script with mouse ears

Fine line · Black and grey · Flash

A delicate handwritten script reads Dreams do come true, with the ellipsis trailing into a solid black silhouette of round ears and a head, with a small white heart cut out of the centre. The script is drawn in thin, even monoline strokes with flowing connecting letters. The design is black ink only on a plain white background, with the lettering set in a long horizontal line.

Fine line Lettering Script Quote Dream Mouse ears Silhouette Heart

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You are the only passenger aboard the Wendover Lass who has never seen the sea, and by the third week out of Liverpool the crew have stopped pretending otherwise. You came up the gangway hidden in a sack of oats, and the bosun found you sorting wheat from chaff in the forepeak with the patience of a clerk. Nobody sends a mouse home from the Atlantic, so they gave you a tin lid for a bowl, a bunk in the spare boot locker, and a name, Tuesday, because that was the day the crew agreed you had arrived.

Keep reading

The cook, Mr Abernethy, reads aloud from a water-stained almanac each evening after the lamps go low. He says the sea keeps a ledger of wishes and pays out only to those who write them down and sew them into a seam. You own no pencil. You own a scrap of spare canvas and a stub of charcoal from the galley stove, and on that canvas you draw what you have seen only in the cook's picture book: two round ears, a head, and a small heart left blank so the wind can pass through it.

Off the Grand Banks a squall takes the topmast and drowns the lamp oil. In the dark the men call out the names of sweethearts and mothers, and you hear the cook say the canvas will hold, because a heart with a hole in it is the only kind the weather cannot tear. You crawl into the seam of the mainsail with the drawing clamped in your teeth, and you stay there until the sun comes up over a sea gone flat as a plate.

Landfall comes grey and slow off Newfoundland. The cook finds you asleep in his boot with the canvas dry against your chest, and beneath your drawing, in crooked letters he could not have made himself, you have written the words the almanac never managed: Dreams do come true...